#scavenger writes

[ask-the-pioneer]

Marbles approaches the tribe's trading square, where countless items are spread neatly on fabric mats. Food, weapons, vessels, bags... strings of pearls shimmering in the sun. Bingo! Perhaps she could persuade the scavengers to trade some of them.

Two individuals come out from the nearby shelter entrance. Sage - the head merchant and chronicler, and Spike - the tribe chieftain, greet their new slugcat guest in person.

"SALUTATIONS. YOU HAVE PEARLS?" Marbles signs with her hands. The two scavs look at her, unsure of the scug's intentions.

"Um… I WANT BUY PEARLS. YOU GIVE ME PEARLS, I GIVE YOU…" she pauses, and looks around. Spotting a spear nearby, she hops up to it and grabs it, then ties a piece of cloth around one of its ends and puts it in her maw. The scavengers tense up, their frills stand on ends. Why would this new guest pick up the weapon if not to use it? The guards nearby do not seem to like it either - they clutch their own spears in anticipation, watching the situation closely.

"I GIVE YOU EXPLODING SPEARS. YOU WANT?" Marbles says as she hands them a nicely crafted spear with a deep orange tint on one end. The cloth smells vaguely of sulphur.

"YOU MAKE EXPLOSIVES? WITH MOUTH? HOW!?" The scavs' eyes widen.

"MY SKILL. USEFUL! I MAKE SPEARS FOR YOU, YOU GIVE ME PEARLS. GOOD?"

Spike and Sage look at each other, barely believing what they just saw.

"…YOU CAN MAKE MORE?" The chieftain glances at Marbles. She nods her head in response.

Sage pulls their friend aside for a moment. There is urgency in their voice. "The tribute, Spike. Imagine if we sent two dozen of those spears to Metropolis. We'd earn favour and protection for at least a season, if not longer!"

The chieftain nods. "Yes… this opportunity is too convenient to pass up. Bring the pearls and calculate the exchange rate, but test those spears first. If they are usable, bring her whatever she needs to make more of them. I would still caution everyone to be careful, though."

"YES, GOOD. WE WILL GIVE PEARLS. SETTLE DOWN PLEASE, OTHERS WILL BRING YOU MATERIALS..."

[rabotimagines]

"Battlefield flirting" GN BOT Reader x Megatron, Starscream, Thundercracker, The Constructicons

Summary: He was on the battlefield trying to stay focused when suddenly your voice rings out much closer than anyone should currently be to his frame, let alone the enemy!

G1 characters: Megatron, Starscream, Thundercracker, The Constructicons

Warnings: Sexually charged mild to rather violent fantasies across the board (aka the cons being cons), This ones more Mature instead of Explicit

Genre/Theme: Annoying/Sexually frustrating the cons.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: GN Autobot! Reader calling The cons pet names/flirting, The cons get sexually frustrated by the enemy (you), written with an older reader in mind (Megatron and Starscream call reader "Old.") Reader is playful with the cons.

"Think fast, sweet thing!" Megatron jolts and whips around when the phrase is shouted at him. And he has a nano-klick to see your infuriating smile and to feel the baffling touch of your em field brushing over his frame. All before registering the EMP-gernade, you hurled at him. Megatron curses wildly before throwing himself over a mound of rock while the EMP-gernade goes off. He grits his denta hard when the pulse still rocks his frame and ends up forcing a portion of his systems to shut down near immediately. Megatron shoves his cannon over the side of his cover and misses his shot at you. You only laughed at the whiffed shot and almost nailed Megatron in the optic with your returned fire. It instead scrapes his helm and forces him to pull back with a hiss. "Woah! Close one there, sugar! C'mon try again for me dear!" Megatron grits his jaw hard enough his denta ache. You obnoxious old fool!

Megatron despises you! A nail in his side! That's what you've been for him through this entire war. His ire has only grown for you since arriving on earth. You've seem keen on annoying him (and his mechs) as thoroughly as you can by mockingly calling them "Pet names" of all things. What drivel! However, you didn't survive this long on pure luck. And Megatron knows he'll more than likely have to kill you himself if he wanted you permanently off of this playing field. So he has to grit his jaw and square his pauldrons whenever another disgustingly sweet phrase rolls off of your glossia. Knowing he needed to focus if he wanted to gain the upper servo in the fight.

Megatron denies the obvious heat that starts to burn in his frame whenever he sees your playful expression and when he's close enough to feel your em field. But after enough battle encounters- and when you simply still will not shut up! That is when he doesn't even bother denying it anymore. Megatron wasn't just going to best you and then kill you. No. He was going to win, then take you apart while he puts you in your place.

You best hope you don't get captured by the Decpticons. Because Megatron knows exactly what he's gonna make you put that mouth of yours to better use for.

-

"Hey, doll face!" It's not the phrase but the almost sultry touch of an em field on his frame that makes Starscream whip his helm to the side in bafflement. He has enough time to see your smile before you slam the edge of your blaster into his faceplate. The Autobot scout he had pinned runs like a little coward as soon as Starscream's attention is off of him. Starscream lifts his nullray and fires it at you while you just dodge and dive for cover. Starscream huffs and tastes his own energon, and he's not just mad. He is furious!

"You blasted old annoying piece of scrap!" Starscream fires his null ray at where you're hiding.

"Aw, c'mon sweetness, give a mech a little credit!" You finish the exclamation by firing and barely missing a shot at one of his wings. The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this autobot glitch!

Starscream growls out in fury before transforming and taking to the sky. Fully and aggressively planning on dive bombing you from above for your transgressions!

Starscream loathes your annoying, incessant self with a passion that knows no end. You were an irritating autobot asset before- now you're an infuriating pain in his aft! The galling mockery of affection of all things rolling off your glossia. The aggravating smile and amusement on your faceplate! Your blasted perverse little em field! Killing you before would have simply been an act by him as second in command as the Decepticons. But now? Starscream needs to feel your energon staining his servos and your spark giving out underneath his pede. And he wouldn't settle for anything less! If he sees the opportunity to do you harm? Starscream is not allowing the chance to slip him by!

The heat that starts plaguing Starscream's frame when he sees your smarmy faceplate only succeeds in feeding into his ire for you. Starscream was going to kill you- But then he realizes it's not enough. You deserved much worse from him! Starscream needs to hurt you. Starscream needs to break you! He wants no more sycophantic little phrases and names- The only thing out of you besides begging for mercy would be Starscreams designation.

If Starscream gets his servos on your sparkdamned frame, he was going to carve his designation into your chasiss with a talon if he had to. Just you fragging wait!

-

"Hey, hot stuff! Hope you can handle all of this!" Thundercracker's helm jerks to the side just in time to see you before you full frame tackle him. Knocking him right off his pedes and onto the ground. You both end up a tangle of limbs and frames. Which quickly leads to grappling with one another. Servo to servo your locked over each other while you're both trying to gain the upper hold. Thundercracker starts gaining the upper grasp in it only for you to grin at him. Your em field brushes over Thundercrackers' frame in a hot but very genuine feeling of playfulness, and it makes him falter momentarily in confusion. "Hey hottie!" Barely registers on his audials before you slam your helm into Thundercrackers olfactory hard enough his optics short for a nanoklick. You then slam yourself into his frame again and knock him back off his pedes.

Thundercracker didn't know what to think about you. He enjoys a proper fight almost more than anything. He just can't comprehend your little name-calling act you've started doing. It's almost as confusing as your em field. Your- fluttering and very unashamed em field that would brush out against him even when you were trying to kill each other and covered in each others energon and on a battlefield. Wait was this- Thundercracker has to shut down the insane idea that this was some slagging- romance novel of all things. He's been indulging in too many human things in his free time he needed to get it together.

And then the heat starts, and that's when Thundercracker immediately realizes he's fragged. Totally and completely fragged. He fell for the enemy, whom he regularly gets into full frame life or death scraps with. He was going to get beaten up next time he saw you because he's not gonna be able to fight back without getting horny about it- Except that also gets him going. So Thundercracker decides to just power through and fight you properly. Thundercracker even entertains the thought of meeting you in secrecy to spar. Like you weren't on opposing sides at war.

When Thundercrackers alone in his habsuite, he even lets himself entertain the thought of said imaginary spar ending with you both covered in each others energon and paint. Like so many times before but this time it's different. Because you're alone with one another... No need to worry about either of your factions. Away from the world and any prying optics from either side-

Thundercracker pinning you down, venting hard... with his spike pressed up against your own. (He's so fragged!)

-

Devastator is reigning destruction on the autobot scum that have made a mess of their plans again! They were in a feeble human construction area and watching the Autobots run like cyberants under their pedes for cover. "Hey hunk-a-lunk!" The voice is loud, and the only reason they all turn in the first place is because they are all either baffled by the name or by the affectionate little em field that brushes against their armor. Devastator turns to see you standing on one of the humans made constructions. When they see you, your smile widens, and your em field actually pushes further against their frame. And it's? Pleasant? Confusion running through all of them is what stops Devastator for a moment. "Keep standing still for me, darling!" You threw something, and it doesn't even hit their frame before the EMP-gernade you tossed explodes right next to them. They can barely shout before the electromagnetic pulse surges through half of their systems and forces them to shut down. Devastator falls into a heap of half conscious constructicons.

Scrapper does not like you, short, sweet, and simply put. The names especially rubbed him the wrong way. Who were you to call him that? Let alone all of them. Scrapper is planning on multiple different projects for your frame parts if they can actually manage to take you out. Your parts definitely deserve some long use, especially with how long you've been annoying them.

Hook is conflicted because it's obvious he deserves every ounce of praise and affection thrown his way! The fact that he's been neglected all this time in that particular department means he's rather accepting of the verbal admiration. He, however, wants to toss you like scrap for your em field audaciously runs along his own. Who do you think you are? touching him? As a filthy Autobot?

Mixmaster is the exact opposite of Hook. He loves the foreign heavy and almost floaty touch of your em field feels against his frame. It makes him want to get closer and feel more of it and see how strong that feeling can get. While on the other servo, he hates the names you call them all. They were Decepticon warriors, not show cars for some fleshy fetish event.

Bonecrusher is more conflicted on the fact that he likes the way you look and smile at him while your em field and names also make him wanna scrap you. He genuinely has no fragging clue why the curl in your derma and the light softness in your optics makes his engine wanna stall. But that softness only makes the urge to ruin you that much heavier.

Scavenger loves the names, the expressions, and your em field. Oh, primus, he's an utter mess around you. Completely and utterly adores you and he can't get enough of you. Every look, name, and touch from your em field on the battlefield has him wanting to fold like a house made of aluminum. He knows you're the enemy but you're so sweet to him Scavenger just can't help it okay! (The other constructicons actively have to make an effort to keep Scavenger away from you on the battlefield.)

Long haul is frankly surprised that besides Scavenger he's the only one who also genuinely likes all of you. So he just keeps that fact to himself. You were hot, flirty, sweet. Sure, you were a filthy Autobot, but not everyones perfect. Long haul could get used to the positive attention even if it was from an unusual source. It's not like the constructicons had anything else to do but sit and wait around for projects from Megatron. There was no harm in Long haul having something for himself to enjoy in private...

The heat starts with exactly one of them (Long haul.) Scavenger to this day swears it was not him who started the cursed thought, (It was Long haul.) But they combine to form Devastator and you behave as you do. And then that hot and heavy heat courses through every single one of them because they are one as Devastator. Afterward, they're all freaking out about the sudden arousal they just now share towards an autobot of all bots while threatening Scavenger with frame damage for starting it in the first place. (Long haul was taking this slag to his deactivation)

The next time they form Devastator and you distract them with names and your touchy em field, though? Heat is simultaneous across all of them. That's when they decided as Devastator that they needed to have you. Devastator abandons the task to instead try to get a hold of you. They could break you apart and fix you up into something better for all of them. If only the other Autobots weren't so annoyingly protective of their own...

They didn't have room for anything as ridiculous as love as Decepticons. (Especially not for an Autobot.) But they certainly had an empty position open for a new toy.

[keferon]

Hi Keferon ! I know ur the equivalent of a transformers fic œnologist so you kind of ✨read them all✨ but allow me to put a lil Deadlock/Drift centered fic on ur table,

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370544/chapters/55996378

Sooo it was written by the same author who wrote that one Rodimus x Thunderclash fic you liked cuz Deadlock & Roddy relation ship was extremely well written

This time it’s about Deadlock and the Scavengers, I know you don’t read too much about them but I SWEAR it’s worth reading, pretty short and full of goof things :D

Personnally I didn’t really know the scavengers well but I took a massive amount of happiness reading this fic :))

And it has slight Roddy and Drift and Dratchet content at the end -^-

I. I was gonna do this “pffffff noooo saying that I read them all is an overstatement” but then I looked up the fic and. Hm. Yeah hahah. I have in fact already read it lmao

STILL☝️Excellent recommendation amazing fic to anyone curious I highly recommend to invest your time in it :D

The same link but clickable

[fulcrum-art-fox]

Kinda obsessed with the scene just before Azi and Ursula hit the Demeter and they pause to appraise the situation and Azi wordlessly rubs her wrists, still sore with cuts and rope burn. The people who did that to her, tied her up and left her to die, are ahead. She’ll undoubtedly be facing them. She wants to face them; face Kris. But she’s just been through something awful at their hands and she’s traumatised. And Ursula sees her rubbing her wrists and immediately gets the knife out to give to her. Ursula saw Azi at the most helpless and vulnerable she’d ever felt. She rescued her, and now she sees Azi’s pain and intuitively extrapolates how she must be feeling preparing to face them again, and her response is to give her a tool, and in doing so she gives her back some power, some agency, some control. It deprives Ursula herself of that tool, but Azi clearly needed the reassurance, so Ursula gives it to her. It’s the exact opposite and the perfect antidote to everything Kris stood for. Where Kris was controlling, impressing upon others her own agenda with little care for their personal needs, Ursula here demonstrates observation of others emotional needs and does her best to meet them. She demonstrates compassion and care, support of others, and selflessness. These are the qualities that define a good leader. It’s such a simple gesture and such a small moment, but it’s this scene that cements why Ursula is the leader that the Demeter survivors need

[naffeclipse]

Forget-me-not

Reader x Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Thank you for @robinette-green for the lovely request! I adored writing this and making the boys so sweet to the reader! The reader is a clockwork animatronic who's trapped in an abandoned circus, and Sun and Moon step foot onto the forgotten ground and find someone in need of their help.

———

You watch another golden glow creep into oblivion upon the abandoned carnival and its sad, lonely inhabitants. The sun withdraws soundlessly like a stranger passing by. The Freak Show sign slumps, depressed. The once golden and galloping horses in the carousel have rusted into cruel, dark hues and no longer stamp or throw their wild manes back while children ride their once beautiful, gleaming saddles. The big tent—it hasn’t been big in years. It lies in sore tatters, wet from yesterday’s rainstorm with poles sticking up high and stringing along broken bulbs of once bright, yellow lights illuminating the darkness, promising fun to the humans who stepped onto the fairgrounds. 

You hate the darkness. You hate it more than being bolted down in place and left to host a game of ring toss no one has played in years. Your right arm is still extended in invitation over the green and brown bottles. The carnival owner couldn’t even allow you both of your arms, pinning your stance into place with bolts and leaving only your left hand to occasionally wave and flutter to catch the attendee’s eyes. 

After all the trouble he went to steal you away from your creator, you thought he would at least have taken you with him when the bright, colorful lights and happy, bouncing music came to a halt.

The soft words of your creator ring distantly, like a voice calling out through fog. You are—were his most beautiful creation. He whispered the words to you while he painted your lips red and bid you to take a look in the mirror.

You agreed. You were so, so pretty.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t know what you look like anymore. You don’t want to look upon how rusted your clockwork inner workings have become. Your once pale and milky porcelain skin might be gray and slushy as the dirt along the pathways guests took, and that is not something you wish to know. There’s no doubt your red lips and silky red hair have been forsaken to the elements. You fear you are ruined. 

You are now worthy of abandonment.

In the darkness, you truly are forgotten. A hitch within your clockwork chassis catches and grinds before continuing, but the scraping pain remains.

Your attention is drawn back to the front entrance, a good distance away from you. Half crumbled with support beats cutting over the access in an ‘X’ shape, like a warning to not trespass this decrepit lot, shadows slink over the splintered and rotted wood. Long, lanky umbras move with a silence that is so strange and careful.

You squint your eyes. The urge to tilt your head slightly to peer better at the disturbance is cut short by the bolt in your neck, refusing to let your head tilt save from a slight side to side to give an enthralling smile.

You shouldn’t get too excited. It’s likely mere animals. A pair of raccoons or a stray dog who has lost its owner. Once, you watched a doe deer step softly through the wretched ruins, big wet eyes turning to you for one moment before the blurt of your automated voice lines jumped from your throat and sent the creature bounding away.

Nothing is yours here, not even the moment of daydreaming of you prancing out of this forsaken carnival like a doe deer. Free.

The shadows mingle into the dusky darkness. The blue-gray twilight reveals figures, and your mechanical heart chokes.

Two personages creep along the path winding from the entranceway. The same path leading directly towards the ring toss game; towards you. One dons a thick hood and cape, dark blue like midnight. The other’s head is sharper and unconcealed. A crown of jutting points frame the figure’s disk-like face, and a thick deep brown shawl gathers at his throat and falls down his chest and arms. 

As they pass into a silvery slant of budding starlight, metal glints on the crowned one’s face and the other hooded person’s hands spray out while scanning the darkness for threats, silver digits curling and uncurling.

Two automatons. Like you. But not.

A whirl in your servos thrums a loud, exhausted sound, and you stiffen—as much as you can while bolted in place. 

What could two automatons want with an abandoned circus? You were never familiar with the world outside of your creator’s home before you were smuggled out against your will by the circus owner, but at the circus, you learned much. 

You learned of scavengers and automatons gaining their rights. You always wonder if that’s partly the reason you were left here to rot too—are you too human now to own but robotic enough to be neglected? 

They could spy on you in the darkness and decide to strip you for parts. Your clockwork clanks heavily within you like a clapper within a bell, beating against your brass heart. Can they hear it? You have to stop. Be quiet. 

The two automatons prowl forward. Their optics and audio processors strain not unlike hounds searching for a fox. What do they prey upon? The crowned one gestures towards the carousel, the ride well within distance to your ring toss game, and you must clench your jaw tightly to keep from whimpering. The hooded one dips his head but keeps moving forward. Your gears crank in jarring motions, jolting and jerking while you hope they take the parts they desire from the circus and leave.

The hooded one continues down the path. Your chassis tightens, and your fingers tremble in place while you keep your eyes averted, held above the automaton’s head but keeping him in the unfocused corners of your optics.

Please. Please, don’t. Your bottom lip quivers.

“Step right up and toss a ring to win a prize!” The words blurt from your mouth and startle all the ruins and everyone within.

Two pairs of glowing eyes fall upon you. Straightening and alerted, the shrouded automatons stare into your fluttering eyelids as you attempt to beg them to leave you alone. A spark burns in your throat. Your voice lines refuse to give.

One stops and reaches silver and blue digits up and lowers the hood slowly. A face gazes at you, scarlet eyes glowing in the darkness with a face like a crescent moon. A blue nightcap, slightly frayed and worn, and decorated in yellow stars, covers his circular faceplate. 

The other steps closer with a curious tilt of the sharp points framing the automation’s head, and enters the last of the blue-gray darkness before night completely takes over. A yellow face, grinning with round cheeks, observes you. Pale optics beam. 

“Hello, friend,” he speaks, voice bouncing low but with intrigue. “Why don’t you come on out? It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

Your optics dart side to side. Helplessness settles over you, pinned in place by rusty, dark shame. 

“Do you need help?” The one with the pale yellow sun rays steps closer, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. “Are you stuck?”

The moon-face automaton slips closer. The glow of his gaze sweeps over the game you’re bolted in front of, and he fixates on your right arm stiffly held out in invitation as your fingers curl and clench. You glance down at him, wondering if your eyes plead in the way your mouth cannot.

Biting your bottom lip does not prevent another voice line from bursting forth, and inwardly, you crumple.

“Try your hand! One ring around the neck of a bottle wins a prize!” 

“Not stuck,” the lunar automaton turns to his accomplice. His cloak shifts like shadows under the arc of the moon. “Trapped.”

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let us help.” The sunny one steps forward, his hands raised as if to pacify a wild creature. “And, if I may be so bold, your voice box sounds like it’s not your own.”

You wish to nod but only succeed in cranking your head halfway to the right, as if in a gesture towards your hapless situation. 

You wonder if they can see the ugly, rusty bolts pinning your body in place, holding you shackled to the ring toss game. They must, for the lunar face man slips closer, stooping down by your feet behind the barrier as he inspects the heavy metal securing you in place. The solar gentleman energetically leaps over the barrier and stops right beside you, hand on his hips. His shawl drapes darkly around him but his grin is bright like a new dawn.

You don’t dare hope. The niceness will fall away like a curtain to reveal the snarling, roaring beast behind it. They will strip you for parts or worse, mock you, revel in your helplessness, and slip back through the night, leaving you with only the daydream of a rescue.

Facing the sunny one, you hold your metaphorical breath as he pauses. He stares deeply into your optics. You stare back into the foggy gray irises he possesses, like a cool, misty fog gathering in the night only to be touched by the sun’s first rays of light. 

“Your eyes are beautiful—the same color as forget-me-nots.” The sunny automaton smiles.

Your servos slow to a calm hum.

“Come on,” he says and carefully reaches for your neck to begin unscrewing the bolt stuck in your throat, “You won’t be left to rust here anymore, starlight.”

Your insides melt, touched by their generosity.

Below, at your feet, the dark blue and silver automaton begins to unscrew the bolts holding your feet down. Rust scrapes away and a harsh squeak of metal echoes. You grunt, jostled but, strangely, you hold to hope like a feathered, tiny thing in your hands, hoping to watch it fly again. 

“We can fix your voice box,” the lunar one speaks in a slight rasp you find endearing. His gaze remains focused on setting you free. “We have a shop. We repair things sometimes.”

“That’s right,” the solar one chimes in, “We scavenge as well. Don’t worry, we’ve repaired a few automatons or two. You can trust us.”

When he pries the bolt from your neck, you can dip your head in acknowledgment. A strange sensation burns through your wires, heating you from the inside out. Emotion. You wish you could ask for their names.

“You look very delicate.” The one at your feet finally frees one of your porcelain slippers with a slow, cautious tug. “We’ll be gentle.”

He tilts his head upwards and flashes a grin. You find yourself warming in the face. Is he being a tease or does he not know how he sounds? By the mischievous glint in your eyes, you fear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You try to pry your lips apart to find the right words, but all that leaves you is “Enjoy lots of fun! For a small price, of course!”

The automaton of yellow and gray hues glances briefly at you, tilting his heading in confusion while he begins to loosen the bolt stabbed into your right elbow. Holding his gaze, you speak with your eyes, almost pleading.

What are your names?

A spark of understanding answers in his pale optics, and he gasps.

“Moon, where are our manners? I’m so sorry, starlight! My name is Sun, and this is Moon.”

You dip your head again, bobbing up and down in excitement. You know their names. You haven’t learned anything new about anyone in so long…

When they free you from the ring toss game, you can hardly believe how the muddy path now leads you to the outside of the circus as Sun holds you gently in his grasp, how their strides are sure-footed and smooth, and how they look at you with concern.  

You vow silently to speak their names the moment your voice is free too.

*

You haven’t seen anything outside of the carnival in so long, you’ve almost forgotten the sight of dark, shiny paved streets and the lone lamp posts that light the way. Gray and dreary buildings line the streets. One, however, is cheerfully plastered in wooden stars painted bright yellow, and the door is a soft, sky blue with white fluffy clouds along the very top. 

Sun and Moon take turns carrying you. Their hands are careful, cradling you close against their cloak and shawl while murmuring that it’s alright. You’re safe. They’ll get you fixed up in no time. Moon cradles you in his arms now as Sun unlocks the door, and holds it open so you can be carried over the threshold. 

For an odd reason, it triggers your faceplate to heat up more than the colored rouge on the porcelain should allow.

Through the door, the interior of the workshop is set with tools ranging from smallest to biggest, shelves containing boxes marked, and small containers with different, shiny nuts and bolts. There are even some small containers with shiny, bronze gears. You haven’t seen a spotless floor in so long. There were always leaves and mud staining the path serpentining through the carnival. 

A table, coppery under a work lamp, awaits. 

“I’m setting you here,” Moon murmurs close to your audio processor before he lays you softly down with a gentle click of your frame against the metal. 

“I worry about how long you were left there.” Sun loses the shawl and locates a brown leather apron. Tools line the pockets as he swiftly ties it behind his back. His eyes are creased though he still smiles reassuringly. “By the amount of rust, I would guess years. For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. What comes out instead is a showy voice declaring “Whoever can ring three bottles wins the ultimate prize!” 

A whirl in your servos practically screams out your embarrassment. You lower your gaze. The stiffness in your joints is almost as unbearable as the voice lines the circus owner forced upon you. 

“Shush,” Moon says, his cloak falling away as he snags an apron similar to Sun’s off of a hook. “Wait for a moment, pretty thing, then you may have your words back.”

“That’s right,” Sun nods and shifts to stand close beside you. He grows still for a moment, his bright disposition falling behind a somber cloud. “We’re very lucky to have found you.”

You smile—not the forced, showy smile that has been plastered on your face while you lie in the ruins, but a true smile for the ones who rescued you.

Moon moves to the other side of the table. His hands, now gloved in black leather, hesitate. 

“We will open you up now.” The automaton turns flush along the spindle support of his neck. “Is that alright? It’s the only way we can fix your voice box.”

Sun leans forward, his smile still cheery while he modestly averts his eyes, “As well any other damage done from being exposed and negligent for… however long you were out there.” 

You never thought the solar automaton could be shy, and yet. 

You nod your head as it rests on the table. You feel safe, so much more so than when you were bolted in place. The circus owner did not ask you what you wanted then.

Moon and Sun move in tandem. It’s strange and beautiful, how effortlessly they weave their fingers to begin work. Sun unlocks your chassis and Moon gently lifts it open. You throw your gaze to the ceiling. You don’t want to know. You know they will find it horrible and awful, but you don’t want to see it and have it seared into your mind.

“You’re beautiful,” Moon utters.

You blink, as breathless as a machine can become.

“Your clockwork—is very beautiful,” a slight stumble from his raspy voice seals your fate. You say nothing. You press your lips together and wonder if you might overheat right here and now. 

“You are pretty,” Sun continues effortlessly, though there’s a slight trill to his voice that may give away his nervousness or bashfulness, you can’t decide. “Clockwork automatons are rare.”

The circus owner made mention of that.

You close your eyes as Sun and Moon narrate their every movement. Hands held down by your sides, you only occasionally shift or softly buzz as they clean and fix your voice box nestled within the bottom of your throat. They are so gentle. You never knew hands could be so kind, even if they are rummaging through your inner workings. 

Could they possibly let you stay?

The absurd thought enters your processor and you almost immediately shove it into a box and bury it deep into cold, black soil. 

“You’re doing so good.” Sun grins as he looks down into your chassis. “There. That should do it. Moon?”

“I’m done.”

Slowly, carefully, as if finishing a sacred rite, the two close up your chassis and tighten it back into place. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. A part of you wonders if you’ll only look out into the ruins of the circus again, and find this was all one blissful moment of a daydream. 

“Can you say something, starlight?” Sun’s voice washes over you.

“It’s alright if you’re not ready,” Moon answers in a low sound of comfort.

It falls past your lips before you realize you are not ready, but you so terribly want to speak anyway.

“Thank you.” Your eyes flash open, and you gape—the echo. Your soft, demure tones no longer strained into shouting and calling attention. 

It’s you.

Your hand touches your lips, and a sound between a laugh and a sob emerges from your voice box. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” You look between the two of them, overwhelmed. With the overhead lamp now touching their features as they sit back, grinning, you get to admire their handsome features. 

You two are very striking.

“Oh, my,” Sun chuckles, bleeding red in the cheeks, “Thank you!”

“You’re very sweet,” Moon murmurs, touching his nightcap with a slight bashfulness.

And you realize you spoke your thoughts out loud. You called them striking.

“Oh,” you begin to burn.

“It’s alright,” Moon says swiftly, interrupting your apology. “We would like to know what your plans are after this. Now that you’re free.”

“Free,” you whisper back. You clutch at your chest, over your clockwork heart, and marvel. “I…”

You have your voice back. Use it.

“I—if I may be so bold, may I ask to stay with you both? I won’t be a burden. I won’t stay longer than you will allow, and I—”

Sun sighs, dramatic and cheerful, as he finds your hand to hold it. 

“I thought you would never ask, starlight!”

Moon’s hand slips under your anxious fingers. His nod echoes his solar counterpart’s enthusiasm. You turn your head between both of them, your lips parting in awe.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Sun. Moon. Thank you.”

[misqnon]

"It's because- and I present this as an empirical truth- he is truly the stupidest person in the entire universe."

the quotes in this series are just . unmatched .

[thunder-opossum]

CW DESCRIPTIVE GORE

Artificer au: second chance

The cheiftan, it was right in her claws. Mauling off the centipede shells made her dark teeth ache, but it left her foe vulnerable.

Artificer gripped the blood soaked spear in her burnt paws. She felt blisters forming from how tight she held the rough metal.

Leaping forwards, a trail of sparks draged behind her tail, she held the spear level with her head as she dove from above.

The cheiftan raised its spear, it was aimed at the heart of the beast. As artificer slamed down on the cheiftan, she could barely pull herself away, the spear draged through her underside. Shallow at the throat, deeper in the belly.

Artificer crashed into the ground, screaming in pain. Her claws felt the wound. Luckily, none of her organs were leaking out, just blood. Not fatal, just debilitating. Every breath she took stretched the slice at the surface of her body.

She tried to raise herself, to hold her spear once again. To win like she always knew she would. But the pain was too great. Her body wouldn't listen to her.

The cheiftan stood above her, shaking. It grunted in its own language, one that Artificer never cared to understand. Elite scavangers surrounded the slugcat. They grabbed her limbs and her maw, and hoisted her up.

It hurts her so damn bad. Not only through her nerves, but also her heart. She couldn't be forced out. She had to kill the cheiftan. It is what she was meant to do. The whole thing felt hopeless, even if she had already halved the scavanger population.

Her teeth gnashing and her claws swiped. She even tried to burn away the hands of the scavangers. But their grip was like death. Like the same intensity she felt towards the cheiftan. They hauled her off, throwing her down many drops until they came upon the outskirts of the scavanger kingdom. They threw her into a shelter and poked spears at the entrance until it closed.

Artificer was left in the darkness, the only illumination being the faint glow of a neuron in her belly, which needed som urgent attending. She groaned as she twisted and licked at the vertical wound. She reminded herself it wasn't deadly, even as her mind fell to hibernation.

The next cycle, the pain was felt just moments after she opened her eyes. She screamed again, her voice hoarse as she coughed out embers. She dragged herself through the pipe and slid to the sandy ground outside.

There was already a large group of elites waiting for her. She barked and clawef from low on the ground, and glowing spears poked her flank. The energy zapped her up into a crawl as she backed away from the extra pain.

She had to go. She couldn't win. Not like this, and there was no resetting to before she was cut down the middle. The scavangers were smart but fowl beasts.

The scavangers "kindly" helped her out the karma gates. Warm water flooded from above, stinging and cleaning her wound.

What would she do. Empty stomach and actively dying. She thought, she thought to keep her from realizing the tears that streamed down one side of her face. To keep her sobs from splitting her open.

How would she go on?

[srisrisriddd]

Imagination leads to manifestation - ideal - mystic video

The ideal you seek and hope can't manifest

Until you imagine realise you already are that

- Dr Devang H Dattani

- Infinite SriSriSri DDD

See esoteric church ceremony ritual christ Jesus Video

Good Morning

Quote / Poem / Poetry / Quotes Of 

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Doctor Devang H Dattani

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Posted By TheBlissCity DDD Team

See The Media Photo Video For

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God Morning

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[hoiststowline]

spinister x sick!reader

The first sign that something was amiss was when you sneezed four times in succession. Sending him on high alert, Spinister struggles to reassure himself that it's not extremely out of the ordinary for you. Sometimes the dust or other allergens cause you have an itchy nose.

That sureness doesn't last very long as a few moments later, it's now seven in a row. Your cheeks are flushed, nose twinged more rosy as if you had been irritating the soft skin with excessive tissue use.

A third sneezing fit has Fulcrum wincing and carefully moving away from you, while Spinister is inching closer. He doesn't mean to hover or appear unhelpful, but he also doesn't know how to assist you.

"Are you unwell?" He elects is the best to just ask, but your demeanor has taken a nosedive.

"Mhm," You nod, lips pursed together into a small smile. Not wanting to worry him, you insist you are totally in good health, and just needed some rest.

Not wanting to argue, and certainly not interested in upsetting you, he complies. It doesn't halt him from looking over his shoulder at every noise you make, each sounding worse with every breath.

Your facade doesn't last very long, at least to Spinister. Within the next hour or so, you begin coughing. It starts with short, mild noises, clearing your throat here and there, and then within sixty minutes, it flushes out into a fully developed hack.

"Nope," He completely drops whatever task he's doing, and appoints himself your medic.

"Nope?" You look up his way through thick lashes, eyes glassy with each blink. Evidently very confused and rather disoriented.

"I don't believe you anymore." Spinister rumbles, at least regarding your declaration that you were well. "I want to check your vitals."

Spinister refuses for you to leave his sight, trailing behind you every chance he can get. It's as if you had a very large shadow following you to the medbay. He was hot on your heels and exceptionally attentive after you had held out that you could walk there, no problem.

But your balance was wobbly, and the coughing and sneezing never relented, even after moving areas on the ship. In passing, Krok had so graciously reminded the medic that he had about fifteen things he had to do before they prepared to take off, but he couldn't quite bring himself to focus on such tasks.

You're clearly very ill, exhausted in every sense, and somewhere along the line you had picked up an ailment that wasn't effecting the rest of them.

He's used to seeing gross stuff. Your sneezing and watery vision has him hardly batting an eye, more interested in observing your heart rate and examining your breathing.

"S'likely just a cold," You watch as he inputs numbers and notes to his datapad, yourself sat atop one of the medical slabs.

Immediately, his attention bounces back to you, optics wide. "You're cold?"

Your lips hesitate to move, yelping breathlessly as he invades your personal space with a simple step forward. At once, he's got a finger to your forehead, inspecting if you had a fever or not.

"No. You're very warm," Talking aloud to himself, yet you're still rather impressed that he knew how to feel for a temperature without a thermometer.

But he felt so nice, almost invigoratingly cool to the touch. Spinister goes to pull away, but you follow his hand, nearly slipping off the edge if he hadn't realized and hastily scooted you back a little further.

"Be careful." He murmurs, coming to an understanding you were sick, but unsure in what was best to cure such symptoms.

Spinister freezes as your hands come to his servo, the one that was in your lap to keep you from toppling over. His typical icy touch, one that was a deterrent when you were already freezing, seemingly had you in much better spirits this time around.

You gasp as the unoccupied servo gently slips under your legs and slowly lifts you to his chassis, his other hand still in your grasp. "Better?"

Nodding, your cheek smushes against the cool metal, feeling utmost comfort in such a position. Spinister can't help himself, watching as in minutes, you easily fall fast asleep, breathing a little ragged but still even.

Something nags at him that he's got work to be completed, but perhaps it could wait a little longer. Your illness took top priority, and he could always just bribe Misfire to finish up his responsibilities.

That seemed like a more attractive option, opposed to attempting to tug a servo free from you. You were so content, nothing was worth it if there was a chance of you waking up in this moment.

[susaken456]

I like how you can interpret Ursula's character as an element that guides the audience through the weirdness of Vesta (Scavengers Reign as a whole).

One of the major things about Scavengers Reign is that nothing is really explained. They never explain what the goal of the wall flower is or why its pollination process is seemingly so complex, but you don't really need an explaination in order to get something out of it; even if you, like Ursula, can't articulate what you just saw.

I don't think the lack of exposition means the writers were lazy, though, as there's clear artistic intent in every scene. You are on an alien planet. Much like the characters, you aren't supposed to understand most of the stuff. However, you can take the patience of contemplating.

This is what Ursula is there for. She doesn't need an explanation for the things she sees, she just accepts the experiences of what is presented to her and isn't in a rush to get any answers. She's like an indirect message from the writers, saying "this is the way to best experience this incredibly alien landscape".

[littleplantfreak]

'When', not 'if'

("I'm not a romantic" I cry and scream before dropping the most sickening thing i've written to date. Blame @stunie because i did tell her i would write the most ume thing ever and maybe this is it. The title in my docs for it is 'Fucking disgusting' but i figured i better not title it that here because I'd be seeing it in my notifs lmaoo)

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

When you wake up from your nap, one of your slippers is gone, and there's a blanket on you that wasn't there prior. Looking at the clock, it's been about an hour since everyone had left your apartment once your birthday party ended. The day as a whole had been chaotic, your boyfriend shoving you out the door with a note to go see Kotoha.

The note took you farther than that, though, as it seemed Umemiya created a whole scavenger hunt for your birthday that had you running into all of your friends, having dessert at your favorite cafe, and eventually ending up at your shared apartment to find that all that time spent around town was a distraction so that he could set up the space for your party. After it had ended, you were banished to the couch because princesses aren't allowed to help clean up their own birthday parties, which had you huffing and falling face down into the chicken shaped pillow affectionately called Mr.Clucky.

It was a product of your boyfriend's endless cycle of hobbies when he took up sewing. A little lopsided and overfilled with stuffing, you complained to and into Mr.Clucky with your face pressed into him. Apparently, he was soft enough to fall asleep on because before you knew it, you had been drooling on him the entire hour. Prying yourself off the couch took more effort than was almost worth it before your eyes fell on the reason you were so tired to begin with.

Hajime smiles and hums looking at your bleary eyes. "Good morning sunshine, I was just about to take you to bed," he says, folding a dish towel over a chair. You toss off the blanket and grab on the slipper that fell under the living room table before padding up to him. Dipping your hands under both of his arms to lock them together behind him, now your face is in his chest instead of the chicken, which is entirely preferred.

"Don't wanna go to bed just yet," you muffle, sinking even deeper into him when both of his arms wrap around you in support. He smells like dish soap and birthday cake, and you turn your head to hear the heartbeat in his chest.

"What do you wanna do lovey? You know I'd give you the world if you asked," you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest with your pressed ear. He's cheesy, but half asleep, you feel just as much, if not cheesier.

"I have the world if I have you, they're one in the same. So just you is more than fine." Your eyes are closed, but you feel him shiver a little. "I wanna dance with you, though," you say, voice still soft and kinda raspy from sleep.

"Dunno if I can top what you just said even when I propose," he chokes out a laugh, or at least you think it's one. He shifts his hold a bit and starts leading you both in a lazy sway that starts near the toaster and ends next to the potted plant at the back door before starting over.

"When? Not if?" You tease him, a hand going to scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

"I'll never meet another you, so I'm pretty set on When."

"I'll say yes." Because you will. You can't imagine a life where you wouldn't.

"And I'll still cry when you do." You can tell he's crying now because it comes out shaky and his hold tightens a bit, before you lean back, stopping your impromptu waltz. Both of your hands come up to cup his face and look at his teary grey eyes before cooing at him.

"You big baby! Save those tears for When please. You'll be congested and sniffley all night if you don't stop." You start cleaning off his face with your sleeve, but he stops one of your hands and starts peppering your palm and wrist with small kisses. "I think I'm ready for bed now. Princess's orders," you say, dragging him towards your bedroom. You'll have to figure out tomorrow just how soon When is going to be, but for now you can hear the slow thumps of Hajime's steps as he follows behind you, squeezing your connected hand. It's not pressing in the least, you think, because it feels like there will be plenty of tomorrows too.

-----

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you an hour to realize Hajime had put the ring on your finger while you were asleep.

It takes you five minutes to run through town in your pajamas, barefoot to find and full on tackle him in front of the place he was about to get your breakfast in.

And it takes about two minutes of unintelligible blubbering on both your parts before anyone understands what is going on.

No one timed it, but if they did, it would've taken less than ten minutes for the whole town to find out via texts, calls, and yells down the streets and through windows that you're engaged.

[kiiingsnake]

you (your mind), you (your body), you (the rot that’s growing inside you), and you (the corpse of your twin)

[adashulaz]

Chat hear me out rq

In order for Corvus to win a scavenger hunt, he has to solve a shit ton of riddles

[kelocitta]

i saw your post on how you were thinking about handling the Whole Artificer Thing and i say, let em be a villain! i think it would be fun

I don't have any qualms about Artificer being cruel or whatever; I just don't think that when working them into an anthro doing a 1-to-1 transfer of their behaviors and/or making them just flat out racist/genocidal is an interesting or accurate way to characterize them. (and I just have. Negative interest in working with that type of character) People can do whatever they want but ultimately I just find the idea that anything other making them aggressively genocidal is like, woobifying them, tiring.

Artificer is obviously not good in the context of the game. But the problem and focus of their actions is the scale and spiritual aspect of it, not the actions themselves. Other slugcats are perfectly capable of killing scavengers, most players likely will and many who don't are only held back by the consequences. Scavengers are also warriors, and Artificer's whole campaign is basically set up on the fact that scavengers are defensive and very much follow a 'shoot first' method of self preservation.

So why does Artificer have always be the one thats uniquely villainous in behavior (now with significantly more moral weight behind it than they had as an animal) when the other slugcats, and even the scavengers, get properly 'civilized' when people make them anthros? I just don't think its an interesting way to utilize them, and I won't fault people who do- but like- I feel like if Artificer is going to be Like That when they can walk and talk and do taxes or whatever than at bare minimum the other slugcats and scavengers' relationship with violence/murder/hunting should be touched on.

I'm not making Artificer a good person. I don't want them to be a good person, because I think the fact they are so bad that they have problems on a spiritual level to be the interesting part. Technically, the Artificer I do for anthro stuff has already done their 'Scav King' and found their 'closure'. They set out to do something awful and did it, they got their ending. So now theyre just old and tired and mean and miserable because getting what you want isnt a solution.

[eueball]

finally did a reference sheet for my version of star-lord! lore information below line break! ✨🌠

a lot of this is cobbled various star-lord backstories + some original ideas mixed in

chinese-american, half celestial. trans guy

autistic, has some learning, mental & physical disabilities (his boots help with some of the chronic pain)

lived with his dad until aliens dropped by and kiIIed him ; instilled a deep desire to travel to space to get revenge

he was sent away to live with relatives who were very strict and emotionally distant. not the most familial of families to live with. really disapproved of his dream of becoming an astronaut and pushed him to more Serious Career Choices

ended up studying space sciences and whatnot. struggled a lot with his grades but did his best trying to earn his guardians's approval (never happened)

since he was focused so much on academics, missed out on a lot of childhood stuff and Life stuff since he didn't really, have friends

did manage to land an internship at a space program

at one point the pressure from his family was way too much, and not being accepted into the astronaut training program pretty much was the final straw for him. decided to steal a starship and just book it into outer space (I imagine it was like a prototype or something of a really advanced ship that was hard to follow into space or keep track of-)

turns out he does Not know how the fuck to survive in space. and barely knows how to pilot the ship past getting it out of the atmosphere. sheer luck, really

(insert some accidental meeting with the Master of the Sun who decides to grant him powers Out Of Curiosity and sends him on his way back barreling through space haphazardly)

at some point his ship gets taken over by the Ravagers. they're completely gobsmacked why some random kid is out in space on his own in a ship he cant even fly. Adopted By Space Pirates Immediately.

he's got some nifty powers but a lot of its kinda locked behind Potential and Growth besides Flight (<- he usually relies on his boots because they have more control bc he doesn't practice. also kinda keeps his capabilities on the Down Low since it does come in handy if people underestimate him in situations.) also he's probably like. definitely a bit nervous about even testing that stuff out w/o some kinda guide but who knows. i'll chew on that at some point. (i guess i can envision his guns and maybe also boots channel his powers in a way? hmm. keeping the DNA coded weapons thing because that's just cool and fun, even if it's not quite in line with his full lore,)

there's more finer details I gotta still flesh out for him but that's generally a lot of major parts of his lore I've been working on so far!

[iteratorsex]

Crack theory time but what if Scavengers were actually the ones who were designed to be pets, and not lizards?

They're colorful and full of variation and personality, likely smart enough to play with a kid and use tools but not really enough to hurt anybody

They obviously have evolved outside of this niche, but I think it's why they look and act like that